


Being For The Benefit Of Dean Winchester

by spacemonkey



Category: Supernatural, The Beatles
Genre: Crack, M/M, Season/Series 05, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-22
Updated: 2012-02-22
Packaged: 2017-10-31 14:27:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/345027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacemonkey/pseuds/spacemonkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean says The Black Album; Cas prefers White, and he has the means to prove it. Set after Changing Channels. Dean/Cas UST. Work in Progress.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Being For The Benefit Of Dean Winchester

Dean says The Black Album; Cas prefers White.

Basically, it started like this.

 

It's not an argument he's going to win. It never has been, and he's had the same old dance quite a few times, at least four times with his brother, and he remembered one particular time with a stranger where it went from Beatles vs Metallica to “fuck you” “no, fuck you” “oh yeah?” and Dean had ended up on his ass outside a bar with a few bruises to spare and a smile on his face.

It was never his argument to win though, he knew it was like arguing that water was dry because, as awesome as Metallica was (and still is and always will be, and fuck Napster anyway), it was the fucking Beatles. Full stop and underlined. Twice. 

He kept at it for one reason and one reason alone: it was fun.

Cas didn't understand fun.

 

It started, as it always does, in a hotel room, completely nondescript, if you decided not to take into account the horsey décor in all nooks and corners, horseshoes as faucets included. For Dean and Sam, it was pretty much par for the course, not even warranting a “huh” of slight surprise any more. Dean had long ago dealt with the fact that his life was fucking stupid, and dumbass wallpaper was the least of his worries. Sam, Dean figured, dealt with it in a completely different way; ain’t no sunshines and lollipops for either of them anymore though, that was for sure, and Dean ignored the way Sam kept looking over his laptop and sighing dejectedly at the wallpaper, like it was the end of the line for him. Apocalypse, sure why not? Lucifer, bring it. Horsies, holy shi-it, life was just not worth living anymore.

Alright, so Dean had decided to ignore the Indian part of the wallpaper make up, because the way they were standing so close to the horses, he figured either the artist was a dumbfuck, or bestiality was the way to go in these neck of the woods, and he just did not want to think about it. That way, in his mind, Sam had less of a reason to complain about the décor, and there was more of a reason for Dean to say, “Jesus Sam, they're just fucking horses.”

“Close enough,” Sam said, depressed and mopey and staring at one of the many Indians like he was ready to launch into five verses of Cats in the Cradle, and Dean had to shake his head because, man, he just fucking couldn't today. He rolled his eyes, Sam sighed again and Castiel chose that moment to enter the room with a whoosh of wings and a look of urgency on his face. Dean didn’t bother to look up from his magazine, and Sam barely offered a grunt of hello.

“Dean.”

“Cas.” Dean flipped a page, studying it intently, but it was a magazine that had been left behind, and he really didn’t care much about Brad and Angie having their forty eighth baby or whatever, and maybe this time they’d pick one up from France! In fact –

The magazine hit the wall, and Dean and Cas looked at each other. “Did you need something?” Dean asked coolly.

“I have been thinking about our conversation, Dean,” Cas said.

Dean raised an eyebrow. They’d talked about Hell, they’d talked about Heaven, Dean had brought up this really good pizza place that he liked in Ohio, and Cas had bored him to death with tales of something to do with the bible, Dean presumed, he hadn’t really been paying much attention, but all in all, the last few conversations hadn’t been that important that they deserved mulling over. Still.

“Pizza?” Dean went for broke, wincing and immediately knowing from Castiel’s slightly bemused face that he was way off course.

“I have listened to The White Album, Dean,” Castiel proclaimed, and it was enough to make Sam finally look up from his laptop. Dean blinked, the entire conversation trickling back to him, and that had been weeks ago.

“Cas,” Dean started, at the same time Sam went, “Wait, what?” and Cas stopped them both by simply pulling said album from his trenchcoat pocket and holding it like it was the fucking grail, and of course, it was an LP.

“I also listened to The Black Album and found The White Album to be superior.” Cas tilted his head slightly, and added, “Very superior.”

“Seriously?” Sam was smiling now, looking from Dean to Cas to Dean like he was at the worlds best tennis match. “You brought this up with Cas, Dean?”

“Why not, it gets brought up with everyone else!” Sam just laughed and went back to his laptop, clearly losing interest in the conversation, and Dean gave Cas a placating smile. “You have to admit that The Black Album kicks ass. And that The White Album is half filler. You don’t find filler on Metallica. You gotta admit that, Cas.”

“I don’t have to do anything. Filler or not, The White Album is better. As are The Beatles.” Castiel’s eyes gleamed, and he said, “And so am I.”

Dean was stunned into silence, if only for a moment, then his eyes swivelled towards Sam, slouching in his chair. “You’ve been teaching him things again, haven’t you?”

“Piss off?” was Sam’s only reply. 

Dean nodded, “Okay then,” then turned back to Cas, wondering where to go from there and quickly finding it, and he launched into an arugment that felt like a comfy suit, full of “Master of Fucking Puppets beats anything!” and fought back “Sgt Pepper, Dean!” with “Fade to Black! Just, Fade to Black!” and they both dutifully ignored Sam when he Googled Rolling Stone magazine and brought out all the best of lists that The Beatles kicked ass in, because Cas was too damn hotheaded to get help and Dean really hated his brother sometimes, and it went on and on and on, longer then it ever had before without resorting to violence and somewhere in the middle of it all, Sam slipped out for a slice and Dean ended up shouting, maybe in regards to live performances, “Oh yeah? Prove it!”

And Castiel got that look on his face, stubborn as all hell and he went right ahead did as he was told. 

 

Dean woke up with his mouth mushed in the asphalt, not quite knowing where he was or how he'd gotten there. It was like that River Phoenix movie that he fucking hated and Sam watched like eleven times in one week while Dean and their dad started to wonder. He lifted his head slightly, and just as he thought, it didn't end. "It probably goes all around the world," he muttered, and then decided that maybe it might be a good idea to get up before he started quoting that entire scene that he'd actually kinda liked and do something productive, like find out what the hell was going on. Or find Cas. That seemed like the best idea, because Dean couldn't quite remember, but usually when he ended up in stupid new places these days, it was because of his fine feathered friend, and really, he'd stopped being surprised a long time ago.

His legs wobbled slightly when he stood up, but that was pretty much par for the course, and Dean brushed the dirt off his jeans and squinted on down the road. There was nothing, just trees and grass and more road, not even a damn sign, and fucking typical that he'd land right in the middle of nowhere. "Awesome. Just awe-"

There was no warning; one minute he was standing there, the next he was flat down on the ground again, tasting road, and a foot landed directly in the small of his back and it fucking hurt. 

"Sorry 'bout that!" someone shouted, and Dean shoved himself up onto his knees, grimacing and glaring at shoes a good twelve feet in front of him now, because what sort of an asshole runs you down and doesn't stop? He opened his mouth to voice his opinion on the matter, and was cut off by another voice behind him.

"Steady on then, John!"

Dean went straight into duck and cover, waiting for the next boot to take him out, and it was twenty seconds of nothing happening before he decided maybe he should pull his arms down and grow a pair. 

Immediately, he found himself wishing he'd just kept on hiding like an idiot when he saw who was staring back at him. 

 

Dean sat his brother down at the small table that their hotel room offered, smiling tightly when Sam gave him the what the fuck happened look that he'd seen so many times in his life. "Wanna beer?" He didn't wait for an answer, just went to the fridge and pulled out three bottles, two for him, one for Sam, none for Cas who was standing near Dean's bed like he wasn't entirely sure what to do with himself. 

Dean was pretty sure Cas felt like that a lot.

"Thanks." Sam nursed the bottle in his hands, twirling it back and forth absently as he looked at Dean. "So are you going to tell me what the hell happened to you two the last few days?"

"Just give us a minute, Sam," Dean said as he took the seat across from his brother.

"A minute? Dean, I've being going out of my damn mind!"

"Your brother is still overwhelmed with the events of the past few days, Sam."

Dean gave Cas a look. "Seriously? And whose fault is that?"

"Dean!"

"Okay, okay!" Dean 's hands went straight up, like he was trying to calm his brother or a wild animal, and sometimes he was sure they were one and the same, and then he gave another tight smile. "It's just, this is probably the weirdest thing that's ever happened to me. Us. Me and Cas."

"I've had stranger," Cas said quietly.

Sam ignored him. "Really? Weirder than us starring on a sitcom? Or- or a giant suicidal talking teddy bear?"

Dean paused to mull it over. Sam was right, they'd been through some pretty messed up shit. Some seriously messed up shit, and Sam had only mentioned .005% of the crazy. On the other hand, "I dunno, man, this was pretty frickin weird."

"Surreal," Cas added.

"Sure. Surreal, why not?" Dean cleared his throat loudly, trying to fight off the ridiculous feeling that was coming over him at the idea of actually having to tell this stupid damn story to his brother, and when he went for a pull of his beer, he thought Sam's eyes were about to fall out of his head. To Sam's credit, though, he stayed silent. Dean swallowed, put his beer back down onto the table and clapped his hands together. "Okay, so basically, it went like this."

 

Dean was going to be sick. He was sure of it. Not because of any real reason at all, just because his eyes were just completely shocked at what they were seeing and his body decided that the only way to deal with that was to make his stomach do gymnastics. And that would be the worst, because Dean wasn't one to get embarrassed by much, but he was one to get star struck, and Paul McCartney was pretty much the biggest star there was, and there he was, standing over Dean with big eyes all concerned and unwrinkled and half hidden under black hair, black, and basically, Dean's brain broke.

It was gone, baby, gone, and he had no real reaction when the man who had run him down doubled back along the road and came into proper view, because of course it was John Lennon, of course. 

It was the only way the day could have gone.

 

"...what?" Sam said.

Dean just shook his head. "I told you, Sammy."

"You can't be serious."

"I told you, Sam, frickin weird."

Sam stared at Dean for a good twenty seconds, then turned to stare at Cas, who just sighed and sat down on the bed. "It's true."

"Holy crap." Sam swiveled back to face Dean, his face just full of wonder, and Dean had to smile. "I mean, why? How?"

"How do you think?" Dean snapped, possibly a bit more hostile than was neccessary, but he didn't regret it one bit as he gestured towards Cas. "Genius over here wanted to prove a point."

"I thought," Cas started loudly, and he schooled himself for a moment before continuing, softly, "that if I took Dean back to see a Beatles concert, he would be convinced." A beat. "And he would know I was right."

Sam let out a short, barking laugh. "Cas, that's probably the weirdest idea you've ever had. And that's in a long line of weird."

"Stupid, more like it," Dean muttered. Cas chose to ignore him, and Dean just couldn't help himself. "I mean, it's not like there is a war between Heaven and Hell going on or anything that we should focus on."

"There has been no activity for weeks," Cas said, all calm and collected with his eyes boring into Dean's like he meant business. "It was only meant to be for a few hours." They glared at each other.

"Man!" Sam shook his head, and the moment was broken. "What were they like? I can't believe you met John and Paul."

"As usual, no one cares about George and Ringo." Dean finished off his first beer and capped open the second one. "Where was I?"


End file.
